


A Strike of Luck

by msdowartyheps



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But mostly fluff, Canon Era, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdowartyheps/pseuds/msdowartyheps
Summary: A game. A lucky man. A final bet. And an unexpected prize.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 15
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Luck seemed to be in Erik’s favor tonight.

He had never been one to gamble, but the drunk man in front of him had been insistent - and rather inconvenient - in his search for an opponent, and Erik figured one round would do no harm. He would bet a couple coins, lose, and the troublesome fellow would walk away satisfied.

That was not what happened, however, and Erik had won six rounds in a row.

“Well, Monsieur, it has been a pleasure, however I must-”

“No! I demand a rematch. Ya know what they say, seven times’ a charm!”

Erik sighed. He had never heard such a thing, he was sure no one had, but disagreeing would take him nowhere.

“Fine. But this is my final bet, no matter the results. I have other matters to attend. Agreed?”

“Agreed”. The man proceeded to pat his pockets and started looking flustered.

“Is there a problem?”

“I, uh… Well, this is embarrassing, but it appears my money is gone…”

A wave of relief washed through Erik.

“Well, then, I guess we will need to save your rematch for some other time.”

“No! I’ll think of something, let me see, where the devil is that…”, the man started looking around the tavern. “There!”, he pointed to a fluffy grey cat in the arms of a girl. “I bet her.”

This man must have lost his mind. Offering his  _ pet _ in gambling?

“But Monsieur-”

“She’s a useless little thing, I’m better off without her anyway.”

Erik contemplated the situation. The cat seemed fast asleep, and her lack of weight indicated that hunting was not one of her best abilities. The man’s filthy clothes also told him he barely took care of himself, let alone another being. And Erik  _ had _ wanted a pet for a very long time…

“Deal.”

Time seemed to fly. Before Erik knew it, they had reached the final move, and all odds suggested that he would be taking the cat home in no time.

The man pulled a card that made things even better for Erik, who decided to act a bit embarrassed by another victory for this fool’s sake.

“Blimey”, the man slurred. “Well, I’m a man and a deal’s a deal. Christina! Come over here!”, he yelled.

The girl jumped up, her eyes wide, and hurried to them, still holding the cat.

“What are you doing with that beast, let go of it!”, he nearly ripped the cat from the girl’s arms and shoved her towards Erik. “Go. You’re not my problem anymore. Get the hell out of my sight!”

The animal, terribly offended for having his nap interrupted, hissed, jumped to the floor and walked away before Erik could wrap his head around what was happening and what  _ exactly _ this drunkard had bet.

“What?”

“Monsieur, no! I can’t accept it, she’s…”

“A deal’s a deal, sir. We gave our words. He who wins, gets the girl. You won, there she is. Use it well.”

They watched as the inebriated fellow stumbled away.

“B-but the cat...”, Erik babbled uselessly.

“She’s not his”, the girl - what in the world was her name again? Christina? - said. “She belongs to everyone and no one. It’s just a street cat.”

“That’s a shame”, Erik muttered, and then turned to look at the girl in front of him.

She had blonde, curly hair, and big blue eyes. Her burgundy dress was visibly worn, but clean and well sewn. Erik noticed blue and purple bruises on her pale skin that were fading, and remembered the man’s final words.

_ Use it well _ .

Erik shuddered when he realized what that meant. He may be a demon but he would never submit a woman to such bestiality.

He glanced once more at the quiet girl next to him. What was he to do? He would not dare to hold an intoxicated man to his word in this situation, not when it involved his family, his daughter.

He couldn’t just leave her in the streets either, her bruises were proof of that, but certainly her father would go out looking for her once morning came, and Erik loathed to imagine the kinds of trouble that would put him into. He needed to avoid police authorities as much as he could.

Still, he reasoned, it was not safe to leave the poor girl alone, and his home wasn’t far away. He could bring her back, or even walk her to her house, early in the morning, when the daylight still isn’t too bright to endanger himself. 

Yes, that would serve to ease his mind.

“You can come. If... If you want to”, Erik said, and turned around. He wouldn’t force the girl to follow him. She was free to run back home if she knew the way.

However, the rustle of fabric told him she had followed him dutifully.

Once they approached the entrance in Rue Scribe, Erik turned to her and hesitantly offered his arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid we must… Stay close together. The corridors are dark and… It can be dangerous. I wouldn’t want any harm to fall upon you, mademoiselle.”

Much to his surprise,  _ Christina _ smiled and placed her hand firmly on the crook of his arm. Little did he know she had not been treated like a  _ person _ , let alone like a lady, in a very long time.

As they walked down, Erik silently thanked whatever deity had willed him to build the Louis-Phillippe room all those years ago. He didn’t know much about other people’s habits nowadays, but not much intelligence was needed to realize the girl would not appreciate having to sleep in a coffin, even if it was for a single night.

When they finally arrived at his home, he noticed Christina was in awe of her surroundings, and felt his chest swell with pride. Of course he couldn’t care less about what mankind thought of him and his doings, not after being continuously attacked, cursed and shunned, but being appreciated felt good.

“This will be your room”, he stated when he opened the door to the Louis-Phillippe. “I apologize if it is… Dusty. But I don’t use it often. This is the only key and I want you to keep it in your possession.”

“Where do you sleep?”

Erik froze for a second, but managed to deceive it and reply quickly: “In the room across the hallway. Should you need me, please knock on the door, or call me. Do not enter. Ever.”

She could catch him without his mask- unlikely, but still possible. She could see his coffin. The possibilities were endless and Erik knew better than to take any chances.

“What should I call you, then?”

“I am Erik.”

“Well, thank you, Monsieur Erik.”

“Goodnight, Mademoiselle.”

“Goodnight.”

He left and heard the door being locked behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik spent the rest of the night in his room, working on his compositions, and it was only when he heard a noise coming from the living room that he remembered his plans from the night before.

He walked out quickly, only to be met with the sight of the girl sitting on the  _ chaise longue _ , her dress now slightly wrinkled, looking around as if she was in some sort of a castle instead of a prison.

“You have a very beautiful house”, she said as a greeting.

“Thank you. I take it you are well-rested?”

“I am, thank you”, she smiled.

“Good, very good”, he ran his hands over his coat as if trying to smooth any wrinkles and then offered her his arm. “Well, I would like you to come with me, if you don’t mind. We’re… Going for a walk.”

The girl’s smile grew larger and she all but jumped to her feet and held his arm.

However, as he opened the door that would lead them out to Rue Scribe, Erik staggered backwards. Sunlight invaded the small corridor, telling him it was too late to go out in the streets safely even with his fedora hat and cloak. His plan was ruined.

Christina stared at him with curiosity as Erik tried to find a way to tell her that they were not going outside today, when it hit him.

_ She _ could go outside. She could run away, find her way back to her father wherever he was. The daylight would ensure her protection, as long as she kept away from dark, deserted alleyways. He would lock this door from inside in case the girl came back with her father, and even if they managed to put the door down, the man would get lost in the dark corridors, perhaps even fall into one of his traps.

It was the perfect outcome.

He closed the door and turned to the girl.

“Mademoiselle, I’m afraid I must… Refrain from our walk. For my safety. I beg for your comprehension.”

She nodded with a kind smile. Though she never mentioned it, he knew she must have guessed what hid underneath the mask. She knew he was a monster and she would never dismiss a chance to escape.

“However, I know I cannot deny you nourishment, of course.” He handed her a purse of coins he had decided to take with them in case her father demanded some sort of reparation. “Take this, go to the  _ boulangerie _ , fetch us some bread, cheese, fresh fruits… Other things you like to eat as well. Feel free to spend this as you see fit. Then, when you come back, we will have our  _ petit déjeuner _ . Can you please do that?”

“ _ Oui _ , Monsieur.”

Erik opened the door, setting her free, and tried his best to smile, though he was aware it likely resembled a grimace. He had given her enough money to buy the  _ entire _ bakery, not only the food itself but also the ovens, ingredients and tools, perhaps even the building. He hoped her father was an honorable man who would spend the money on his daughter’s wellbeing, and not in drinking and gambling.

A long time had passed when he heard what sounded like banging. It seemed that the man was a good father after all, willing to fight for his daughter’s honor.

He slowly walked towards the door, his Punjab lasso out and ready to be put to use, and was startled to hear, among the seemingly endless banging, what sounded like a sob.

“Monsieur, please! Are you there? Please, open the door!”

She was  _ back _ ?

Erik rushed to the door and all but slammed it open. He noticed a surge of relief washed over the girl’s tear-stricken face.

“Oh, thank goodness! I was starting to think it had been a scam!”, she said as she grabbed a few bags from the floor and walked in.

Erik took the heaviest bags from her so she could hold his arm on their way back to his house, and so she did. Her crying had subsided during their journey, but she sniffed every now and then. Once they were inside, she took one of the heavy bags to the Louis-Phillippe room while he proceeded to the kitchen to provide breakfast.

After rummaging through the groceries, he picked a loaf of bread, butter, sliced pears, a smaller piece of sweet bread and some tea. About thirty minutes later, when the table was set and the water was close to boiling, the girl walked back into the kitchen. Erik noticed she had brushed her hair and changed into a pale pink dress.

Well, he did tell her to spend the money as she saw fit, but Erik had no clue as to why she had brought her new clothes and accessories back to his house. He wanted to question her, but after noticing the way her eyes lingered over the bread, he decided it could wait until she was fed.

Her manners at the table were more than acceptable, which pleased him greatly for some reason. After she had eaten the bread and almost all the pear slices Erik had sorted for her and was politely sipping her tea, he decided it was as good a time for some questions as any.

“Mademoiselle…”

“Christine”, she corrected him.

_ Christine _ , then. Not Christina. What an odd thing, Erik mused, for a father to misspeak his own daughter’s name, even in an inebriated state as the man from the night before was. Well, he was not to dwell on such things.

“Christine. I… I must clarify one thing. I am not holding on to the bet that was made last night. You are free to go back to your family, they must be worried sick about you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I should not have accepted your father’s proposition yesterday, I simply assumed he was referring to the cat, and honestly I only accepted it because I wanted things to be over with and he would not allow me to refuse. But I am certain he regrets it now. That is, of course, if the amount of drinks he ingested allows him to even remember anything. When I sent you shopping earlier today, I assumed you would run away, find your way back home. The door was locked because I didn’t want to confront your father.”

“What? Dear Lord, no! Thérnadier is not my father!”

“He… Is not?”

“No, Monsieur. You see, my father, my real father, died when I was a child, and left me with my tutors, Monsieur and Madame Valerius, but they were elderly and passed, too, a few years ago. I was alone and met Monsieur Thérnadier and his wife. But they treated me more like a slave than anything else.” Christine’s eyes then filled with tears. “Please, Monsieur. I want to stay here. I will not bother you much, I will not even leave my room if that is what you desire. But please, don’t send me back there. I beg you.”

Erik was speechless. He had witnessed women react in numerous manners throughout his life, but never had one of them stayed by his side willingly. Granted, for Christine it was either living with him or going back to being enslaved by some filthy man, but still.

Before getting his hopes too high, though, he would make one final attempt.

“I am certain there is someone else who would be delighted to have you. An aunt, maybe? A family friend?”

Christine sniffled and was silent for a moment.

“When I was a child, my father and I spent some time by the sea, in Perros-Guirec. There was…”, she blushed. “There was a boy who I became friends with. He met my father and they liked each other very much. I remember his family was from Paris.”

“Well, then it is settled. If you want to, we can go looking for them today. What is his name?”

“Raoul.”

Erik waited for her to give him her friend’s full name, but she didn’t.

“Do you know his family name?”

Christine frowned.

“I… Don’t remember. I was a kid and…”, she sighed. “All I know is that it was a fancy name. And he had an older brother named Phillippe.”

Erik suppressed the urge to huff and roll his eyes. They were in  _ France _ , for goodness’ sake, Phillippe was a very common name. Sure Christine knew that? And a lot of Parisian families had what could be called fancy names. This had not been helpful at all.

“Well, it is going to be difficult without a family name, but I am sure we can find your friend. Until then, and only until then, you can stay.”

He ignored the small part of him that, seeing Christine’s huge smile, hoped they would never find the boy.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> PS: just so you know, “Christina” is not accidental misspelling.


End file.
